PLANNING FOR A TREEHOUSE (Voices From Three Generations)

PLANNING FOR A TREEHOUSE

(Voices from Three Generations)

(For my Grandchildren)

We will see so/ little of the world that it is/ important for you to see this/ tree, to envision rooms and/ stairs where there is only air/ and leaves, to place the first/ board against the bark. --- From “Treehouse for God” by Hannah Stephenson, The Storialist, 10-25-11 

1.

Come summer, we will build

another treehouse on an oak

overlooking the creek, there

is more of you now to gather

remnants we can put together. 

Nothing bigger, but higher,

maybe closer to the clouds,

nearer to the stars, away from

the giggling girls next door.

We will see less of the world. 

2.

Or more of it below: yelping

dogs lining up for the lift-leg

tree astride our river bank,

are easy slingshot targets off

stouter, steadier branches. 

O, and there is soldier-boy

doing it with the wife round

the clock since he came back

wounded from Iraq, Libya,

and all on the eastern crack. 

3.

Shush, buddyboy, that’s not

what treehouses are for. What

are they for, gramps? To espy

on sparrows, robins, jays, owls

talk to each other on sundowns. 

So, if we build it a bit higher,

we can also build a treehouse

for God, can we not, gramps?

Why ever for, laddie? He is

everywhere. But nowhere near? 

4.

Cool. A treehouse for God on

the river bend. Then, maybe,

just maybe, we can visit him

anytime, gramps, ask for help

for starving kids in Somalia. 

Hook him up on a telephone

line, strings and cans and all,

and maybe Dad can provide

Him with a Bell internet link,

alert Him on the Facebook! 

5.

So he can stop all killings and all

and punish priests who molest

altar boys and girls, and...Whoa!

Whoa, boys, we are building a

treehouse, not His jailhouse. 

Could we build one for God,

anyway, gramps? We got boards

and plywood and shingles and

nails, and...borrow mom’s cross,

to protect Him in his treehouse. 

6.

Winter is almost here, boys,

we need to firm things up here

so it would not fall off. We will

build another come summer

on that oak bent over the creek. 

(He wipes clammy sweat off his

forehead, winces at a strange jab

of pain on his chest, tingling on

his arms.) Time to climb down,

boys, before we nail Him down,

again.

--- Albert B. Casuga

10-26-11